Gerfaut — Complete eBook

Deeply affected by this reproach, the Vicomte bowed
his head in silence.

“Here is my place,” said the Baron, stopping
before the trunk of an old oak, “and there is
the elm where you are to station yourself.”

Gerfaut stopped, and said, in a trembling voice:

“Monsieur, one of us will not leave these woods
alive. In the presence of death, one tells the
truth. I hope for your peace of mind, and my own,
that you will believe my last words. I swear to
you, upon my honor and by all that is sacred, that
Madame de Bergenheim is innocent.”

He bowed, and withdrew from Christian without waiting
for a response.

Bergenheim and Gerfaut were out of sight of the others,
and stood at their posts with eyes fastened upon each
other. The ditch was wide enough to prevent the
branches of the trees from troubling them; at the distance
of sixty feet, which separated them, each could see
his adversary standing motionless, framed by the green
foliage. Suddenly, barking was heard in the distance,
partially drowned by the firing of a gun. A few
seconds later, two feeble reports were heard, followed
by an imprecation from Monsieur de Camier, whose caps
flashed in the pan. The Baron, who had just leaned
forward that he might see better through the thicket,
raised his hand to warn Octave to hold himself in readiness.
He then placed himself in position. An extreme
indecision marked Gerfaut’s attitude. After
raising his gun, he dropped it to the ground with a
despondent gesture, as if his resolution to fire had
suddenly abandoned him; the pallor of death could
not be more terrible than that which overspread his
features. The howling of the dogs and shouts of
the hunters increased. Suddenly another sound
was heard. Low, deep growls, followed by the
crackling of branches, came from the woods opposite
our adversaries. The whole thicket seemed to
tremble as if agitated by a storm.

“Take care!” exclaimed Bergenheim, in
a firm voice.

At the same moment an enormous head appeared, and
the report of a gun was heard. When Gerfaut looked
through the smoke caused by his gun, at the farther
end of the ditch, nothing was to be seen but the foliage.

The boar, after crossing the clearing, vanished like
a flash, leaving behind him a trail of broken branches—­and
Bergenheim lay behind the trunk of the old oak, upon
which large drops of blood had already fallen.

CHAPTER XXVI

BERGENHEIM’S REVENGE

On the same morning the drawing-room of the Bergenheim
castle was the theatre of a quiet home scene very
much like the one we described at the beginning of
this story. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was seated
in her armchair reading the periodicals which had
just arrived; Aline was practising upon the piano,
and her sister-in-law was seated before one of the
windows embroidering. By the calm attitude of
these three ladies, and the interest they seemed to